A/N: Gosh this is super embarrassing but I was struggling with whether or not to keep Wash in or out of this story and I kept changing my mind which led to inconsistencies while I was writing the first chapter. So sorry for the screw up, I've decided Wash needs to be alive and well because I don't want to introduce a new pilot and I don't want River to be remanded to the helm, her talents lie elsewhere. This one is very short, I know that sometimes bugs people but I promise to update sooner to make up for it. To everyone who reviewed, thank you and I hope you enjoy! And yes this is a River/Riddick pairing.
No Power in the Verse: Dealing with Tigers
She sifted through his racing thoughts, the man thought a million miles a second, each thought having its own cluster of related business. She tried to focus on one thing, he had asked a question. There had been a question and he was staring intently at her, waiting for a response. She plucked the one that burned the brightest, but no, that wasn't right, he would not ask her that. Trying again, she found one laced with a taste of fear, yes, that had been his question.
"Probability confirms your hypothesis, but the man will not act on probability. Right now, we are in a symbiotic stasis, will notify when relationship changes." She patted his hand reassuringly, attempting to mimic Simon's mannerisms, and treaded quietly away. Unfortunately, she left the captain not at all reassured and entirely unsettled, especially as his mind revolved on the word "when." But business was business; prospects had slimmed considerably since Miranda and he trusted unquestioningly that his girl would ensure they stay a step ahead of the stranger.
She was preoccupied as she walked to her bunk. The thought that had burned so bright had surprised her; she had not seen this coming. The human mind is so complex, it thinks without thinking, most often thoughts are instinctual, a habit projected by correlating relationships. For instance Kaylee was briefly wondering what it would be like to throw herself at Jayne instead of the wrench she had just set sailing at his head to chase him out of her domain. But she would never act out on the thought and the imagery was dismissed before it could even be fully registered by her consciousness. That was how the mind acted normally, without a directive; it surged about in every wild direction.
She climbed down to her bunk and closed the door without calling for the lights. A hand shot out and grabbed her right shoulder, spinning her about. In a half second, her back was pressed against a hard form, one heavily muscled arm wrapped across her chest, the other pressing a sharp blade against her neck. She did not struggle nor move to counteract the position.
He was surprised, had fully expected whimpering pleas and tears. He allowed himself a full inhale of her scent, confused to find not a trace of fear or panic. In fact he couldn't find much in her scent at all that he could recognize, but it called to him, his mind and body reveled in it, screamed for a taste. But he was not ruled by primal urges, except the kill, that's the only voice he ever listened to.
"How do you know me girl?" She felt the question rumble up from his chest to his throat.
"Know you from you, you know much but acknowledge little. You whisper, whisper so softly you can't hear." He eased the pressure of the blade on her neck when he felt his shiv slice a paper-thin cut along her pretty little throat as she spoke. He resisted the urge to lick the tiny bead of blood.
"You in my head girl?" He growled at the strange sensation that vibrated through his body at the thought of her knowing him, of this inexplicable connection.
She gave a bright bite of laughter, "You, and everyone else in this verse." A low snarl unintentionally escaped his throat. There was no connection, she was just a fuckin' reader. He lowered his shiv from her and released his hold. She spun around gracefully to stare up at him. The undetectable amount of light in her darkened room reflected brilliantly from his eyes. She was not shocked, or afraid, or in awe. She studied him like she could see him, as clear as he could see her.
"You stay the fuck outta my head." He thrust the point of his shiv menacingly at her to emphasis his point. As he pulled his blade back she swept her leg out, taking out his knees, forcing him on his back. He went roll up into a defensive crouch but she was already on him, twisting a cluster of nerves at his shoulders with deft fingers. The shock went straight down his arm forcing the shiv to drop, clattering against the metal grate. He swept his good arm up to knock her senseless but abruptly stopped the motion when he found himself eyeballing the pointy end of his own shiv.
Here he was, Richard Badass Riddick, lying on his back, mounted by a slip of a girl with his own blade a millimeter from his right eye. He was pissed, and aroused, which only pissed him off more. Girl did not know who she was fucking with.
"Will not go to the shadows," she tapped his head with her free hand, "you stay out of mine." It took him a minute to understand.
"Don't fuck with me, I won't fuck with you?" He laughed this time; it sent tiny shivers up her spine.
"I like your style girl." She gracefully dismounted his prone form, handing back his shiv, not at all concerned with the consequences of her power display. This girl definitely had balls, Riddick thought, smirking to himself.
"The peacock was a strange choice, will not dig for the answer, a promise is a promise." She gave him a perfect imitation of his smirk before unlatching her door and climbing out.